


A Lady Never Tells

by CelticKnot



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gaslighting, Poor Life Choices, rebellion era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24246211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticKnot/pseuds/CelticKnot
Summary: 2 BBY. The Mandalorian has fallen in with a small band of mercenaries, making a living running odd jobs for them. He is fascinated by one of his crewmates, and she with him--but her intentions are far from noble.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Xi'an (Star Wars)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	A Lady Never Tells

" _There they are! Blast them!"_

The Mandalorian swore under his breath as the warehouse guards opened fire. Diving behind a boulder, he took a moment to catch his breath. Damn it, this was supposed to be a simple mission: sneak in, grab some intel, and sneak out. But Qin had gotten greedy, and the instant he'd pulled the shiny new blaster out of its container, the alarm had sounded. And now they had Imperial stormtroopers and security droids closing in.

Unslinging his pulse rifle, the Mandalorian took aim at the nearest trooper and returned fire. His target disintegrated, scraps of cloth and shards of armor raining down where he'd stood. The Mandalorian ducked back down as the others concentrated their fire on his position. At the first break in the barrage, he popped back up and took down another. But still they came.

A throwing knife whispered past his helmet to lodge in the throat of a third trooper, who dropped with an agonized gurgle. Xi'an laughed as she slid into cover beside the Mandalorian, giddy with the high of battle. She always enjoyed a good fight, and he enjoyed fighting by her side. Her skills complemented his in many ways. They made a good team.

But this wasn't the time to take the battle to the enemy. They had the intel they were after, on a data disk tucked more or less safely in Ranzar Malk's pocket. They needed to fall back and get out of here.

"Get back to the ship, Xi'an," said the Mandalorian tersely. "I'll cover you!" He disintegrated another trooper, and couldn't help but smile to himself as the others started cursing and panicking. Only the droids seemed unaffected.

Xi'an, however, only leered at him in response. "And let you have all the fun?" she teased. Leaning out from behind the boulder, she took out a spindly-limbed droid with two quick shots of her blaster.

Before the Mandalorian could answer, a cry caught his attention. A blaster bolt caught Ran in the thigh, sending him tumbling to the ground. Several more droids converged on him as he struggled slowly to his feet, preparing to finish him off.

The Mandalorian charged out from behind the boulder, firing his blaster more to get the droids' attention than to actually damage them. Buying Ran a few seconds to get moving. As soon as one droid looked up, he launched the whipcord from his vambrace, caught it around the neck, and yanked it off its feet. It stumbled into two others, and the Mandalorian finished off all three with a gout of flame.

By the time he put a blaster bolt through the head of the fourth and final droid menacing Ran, Xi'an and Qin had finished off all the other guards. The way back to the ship was clear.

"Thanks, Mando," Ran grunted as the Mandalorian hauled him to his feet. "Thought I'd had it there for a minute."

The Mandalorian didn't respond to that, instead eyeing Ran critically. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I—" Ran took a step forward, and nearly collapsed again. The Mandalorian caught him before he could hit the ground, staggering under his not-inconsiderable weight. "On the other hand," Ran ground out, "maybe I could use a little help."

With Ran's left leg all but useless, it was a long trek back to their ship. By the time they got there, Jori, their timid but talented pilot, had already fired up the engines and was ready for takeoff. The Mandalorian dumped Ran unceremoniously into a seat beside Qin, then took his own next to Xi'an.

"Finally decided to join us, Mando?" Qin snarled.

"Just making sure we get paid," said the Mandalorian dryly. He nodded at Ran. "We need him."

Ran chuckled. "And here I thought we were friends." He fished his commlink out of his pocket. "We're all here, Jori. Time to get off this rock."

" _You got it, boss,"_ came the relieved-sounding acknowledgement.

The ship, a stolen and heavily modified Lambda-class cargo shuttle aptly renamed the _Rusty Bucket,_ lurched unsteadily into the air, its wings unfolding with a screech of protesting durasteel. The noise speared into the Mandalorian's head like an ice pick. He gritted his teeth, silently cursing Jori. Why he wouldn't repair the damned thing—hell, the Mandalorian had even offered to help, only to be turned away—defied comprehension. But Jori insisted it gave the ship "character." Besides, he said, with the Rebellion raging across the galaxy, nobody had the time or resources to spare investigating a ship that looked like it had sat in the swamps of Dagobah since the Clone Wars. The Mandalorian just thought it was a miracle the thing flew at all.

But as always, the ship flew better than it had any right to. The _Bucket_ cleared the planet's atmosphere with only minimal turbulence, and made the jump to hyperspace without a hitch.

Another job. Another payday.

With some time to kill, the Mandalorian sat back and considered, as he often did, this little band of misfits he'd fallen in with.

Ran was technically their leader, which by the Mandalorian's reckoning meant the holder of the purse-strings. He commissioned their jobs and disbursed their pay. He was friendly enough, if he liked you, but his joviality covered a dark and unhesitating temper. Getting on his bad side was a good way to end up very matter-of-factly dead.

As a fighter, though, Ran was… not much of an asset. Sure, he was a decent shot and a ruthless killer when he had to be, but he was slow and clumsy—as evidenced by today's near-disaster. One of these days, he was going to get himself killed, and the Mandalorian was determined not to go down with him.

Jori didn't merit much consideration at all. He was a chauffeur, nothing more. He never left the ship when they were on a mission, never set foot on a battlefield, was always ready to turn tail and run at the first sign of danger. He was a coward, and the Mandalorian had nothing but contempt for him.

And then there were the two Twi'leks. Brother and sister, they couldn't be more different.

Qin had nothing of his species' famed grace. He was all rage and brute force, scarred face and bulging muscle. He liked to show off his physique, too, finding any excuse to flex for anyone who'd look. Probably thought it was intimidating or something. But the Mandalorian could only roll his eyes—though he kept himself in peak physical condition as well, his upbringing, his training, and his Creed had long since moved him past such vanity.

Xi'an, on the other hand, was everything every hot-blooded male imagined in a female Twi: lithe and flexible, slender but with a wiry strength that belied her tiny frame. Her smooth, shapely lekku could twitch suggestively even when they hung demurely behind her back, and the way she toyed with them and draped them over her shoulders could be positively scandalous sometimes. Her every movement was a dance, and she laughed as she killed.

The Mandalorian sometimes wished he could feel that kind of freedom, to laugh his way through life without a care in the world like she did, taking nothing seriously. But his Creed made that impossible. Everything he did, everything he was, all came back to the _Resol'nare,_ the Six Actions that defined a Mandalorian and were far too sacred to take lightly. It was a burden sometimes, to be sure, but one he bore gladly in gratitude to the people who'd saved his life so long ago.

He knew why Xi'an laughed, though. Not because there was any humor in the death of another, but out of the sheer exhilaration of combat. There was a kind of peace to be found in fighting, in the rhythm of blade and blaster. There was a kind of innocence in the imperative to kill or be killed. There was a clarity of mind when one's training took over to guide the hand, the body, the weapon, without conscious thought. There was a kind of freedom found in violence.

Xi'an would laugh at him if he said such things aloud. She never had the patience for any sort of philosophy. She was a creature of the present. The past meant nothing to her, and the future was never guaranteed, so she lived with a determination to enjoy every moment, consequences be damned. She lived in the high of battle.

She fascinated him.

"Mando. Mandooo… anybody home in there?" Calling out to him in a singsong voice, Xi'an reached up and rapped her knuckles on his helmet, startling him out of his thoughts.

_Haar'chak,_ he'd been staring at her. Not for the first time, he was grateful for the helmet that hid his embarrassed blush as well as his irritated scowl. "What?" he snapped.

"I said, what are you doing with your share of the spoils?" she asked with a toothy grin.

The Mandalorian snorted. "Not what you're thinking, apparently. My armor needs some repair. I want to make some modifications to my rifle. But the rest I'm sending back to the Tribe for the foundlings."

Xi'an rolled her eyes, pouted, and slid closer to him. She laid a hand on his cuirass and traced delicate spiral patterns down his breastplate with her fingertips. "You are no fun," she purred.

He couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like if she were touching his skin instead of his armor. Swallowing hard, he pushed the thought aside. "This is the Way," he said simply.

" _This is the Way,"_ she mocked, giving him a playful shove. "Come _on,_ Mando, you gotta live a little now and then. Think about yourself for once. You need to stop being so _honorable._ It's _boring."_

Across the cargo bay, Qin folded his arms and sneered. "If he's so _boring_ , Sister, why do you keep chasing after him?"

Xi'an only hissed at him in response, and laid her head on the Mandalorian's shoulder. Ran chuckled, but said nothing.

"Listen here, Mando." Qin stood and approached them, lip curled, cracking his knuckles menacingly. He leaned down co close his breath momentarily fogged the Mandalorian's visor. "If you so much as touch my little sister, I'll kriffing kill you. Understand?"

"Sure." The Mandalorian looked up at Qin, meeting his glare levelly even as he deliberately slipped his arm around Xi'an's waist. _"Gar mirsh solus,_ Qin."

Qin pulled himself up to his full height, towering over him and snarling. "Speak Basic, little man. You know I can't understand your gibberish."

"I said, 'You are strong and intimidating,'" said the Mandalorian blithely.

"Good," Qin spat. "Don't you kriffing forget it."

Turning on his heel, he stomped through the door into the cockpit. The Mandalorian watched him go smirking to himself.

With a mischievous grin, Xi'an stared up at him sideways. "So, what did you _really_ say to him?"

Pulling his hand back, the Mandalorian interlaced his fingers behind his head and leaned back casually. "I told him his brain cells are lonely."

Xi'an burst out in peals of high-pitched laughter.


End file.
